


Somebody to hold me.

by Ritiri



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Bottom Zayn, Eventual Smut, M/M, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritiri/pseuds/Ritiri
Summary: Zayn left the band for the right reasons. But he realizes that he stayed as long as he did for good reasons as well.Oh, who am I kidding? This is basically going to be smut after I exhaust myself trying to come up with a plot for a couple chapters.





	1. Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a writer. What I am is a pervert with passable grammar and some free time. There is nowhere near enough sub!Zayn in the fandom or even Zarry fics, and this happened because I couldn't help myself.  
> The story is unedited and raw. Any and all feedback is appreciated. Don't hesitate to ask for the fic to take a certain direction. I love prompts! This is my first proper fic, so do be kind. I've promised myself that I'm going to finish this, so wish me luck!

Zayn had thought leaving would fix everything. The reason he’d given his family, his mates and the world at large had been creative differences. Zayn wanted a different sound for his music and he thought it was time to pursue his vision. Technically, this was not a lie. Music was the only medium of communication that didn’t give him an anxiety attack. He could take days and weeks and months to perfect what he wanted to say, the melody, tone, pace and feel of it, to make sure that he wasn’t misunderstood. Because see, the thing is, despite his love for reading, Zayn was a bit shit at words.

He second guessed himself to the point of paralysis analysis. The problem aggravated itself, as year after year of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, enforced in him the belief that he needed to think a hundred times before he opened his mouth. He figured it was better for people to think him standoffish and vain, than an idiot.

Zayn would raise his mic to his lips to answer an interviewer directing a question at him, only to find that he’d lost the little pocket of time, another one of the boys already having taken the question for him. He knew they meant well. They knew about his anxiety and thought they were doing him a favour by taking the limelight off him. But in truth, it felt like being shoved into the background. By the end of such interviews, Zayn found himself exhausted from the effort he put into formulating responses in his head, and from forcefully keeping his body still, with nothing to show for it.

Leaving was supposed to fix all of that. He would sing his heart out, melodies, beats and lyrics trapped beneath his skin, clawing at it to come out. And so, he did.

He loved his fans. He gave to them all he could without feeling like he no longer owned himself. And for a while, everything was better.

He did things on his own time, played the game by his rules. His life was placid, like he’d always wanted. What he hadn’t foreseen was for the quiet to start grating at him. Calm was now desolate. Peace was now unemotional and empty.

He had complete autonomy over his work, and he wasn’t even considering going back on his decision, but he did miss his friends.

He missed Liam cupping the back of his neck and comfortingly squeezing it, his fingers hesitatingly scratching through his hair, still unsure whether he was allowed to touch Zayn so easily. He missed Niall pulling him into a hug from behind, pressing his cheek to Zayn’s ear, laughing loud and abrasive, the sound making his chest feel lighter. He missed Louis randomly tweaking his nipples in the middle of a conversation, like it was a completely normal, laddy thing to do. And he missed Harry’s slow drawl, his guileless smile, his habit of maintaining eye contact with everyone he talked to, making them feel like he truly cared what they had to say. With Harry, Zayn had never worried that he was being boring, or that his presence was unwanted.

Finding not one, but four people, that you just got on with, without putting any effort into it, wasn’t something to be taken for granted. And he hadn’t. He’d never dreamt that he would lose these four people. He’d never considered that they would cut ties with him. He had envisioned late night Skype chats and constant texts. Obviously, he’d overestimated the depth of their friendship.

It was all these thoughts, swirling around in his head, that finally resulted in him losing his mind and going on a bender. He got piss drunk, broke up with his girlfriend, because who was he kidding? He loved the girl, but the more time he spent with her, the more he realized that the dynamic of their relationship was far from the sort of romance he knew he wanted. He knew they could have made it work. Theirs was a relationship based on strong friendship and he was not going to lie, fantastic sex. But he was greedy.

He wanted more. He wanted someone that made his heart beat both faster and slower. Someone that felt comfortable like family, yet an adventure like the mysterious wilds. He might never find that someone, but so long as his heart wanted more than he had with her, he knew it was unfair to keep her hanging. A girl like her didn’t deserve to have someone settle for her. He hoped their friendship would survive the break up, but right now, he was too busy trying to give himself alcohol poisoning to care too much about such complicated things.

He would drink. And he would do what the fuck ever he wanted. The rest could wait until noon tomorrow.

He was lying on his sofa, on call with his mother, trying to convince her to share his grandmother’s mutton biryani recipe with him, but she didn’t seem to believe him capable of going near the stove in his inebriated state without burning his house down.

He finally decided that the lecture about irresponsible drinking, that he would no doubt would have to sit through, probably tomorrow whilst hungover, was not worth it. Take out it would have to be.

Saying a quick “ _love you_ ” to his mom, he hung up, scrolling through his contacts, deliberating who to call next.

Seemingly without his permission, he found himself dialing a recently acquired number. The first time Zayn had tried dialing Harry after leaving the band and had found out that the number had been disconnected, it had felt like a personal blow. He knew that they had to switch numbers quite often. He’d done so himself quite a few times. But why hadn’t Harry bothered to text him his new number? He was too drunk to be ashamed of using middle school tactics, having had Gigi get Harry’s number from Kendall.

“ _Hello?_ ”

Maybe it was because he’d been drinking for the better part of the evening, or maybe it was because hearing the soft, curious tone of his maybe ex-friend’s voice, completely devoid of the disappointment or hostility it had taken possession of in his mind, Zayn broke. He tried responding like a sane person, but before he knew it, an ugly sob tore itself out of his throat.

“ _I’m sorry, I, I…_ ” was all Zayn could get out before the pained, choking feeling got too much and he was crying, mumbling gibberish about being alone, so alone. About feeling abandoned, even though he was the one that’d left. He found himself blaming Harry for everything wrong in his life, because Harry always made things better, brighter, then why was he refusing to do that for Zayn now. He apologized for being too quiet and too loud, and all things we could put into words, endlessly, until Harry interrupted him.

“ _Are you in London right now?_ ” He asked, out of nowhere.

“ _Yeah. For a couple months. And you’re in LA._ ” Zayn stated. He kept up with news about the boys and he wasn’t going to pretend otherwise.

“ _Okay._ ” And with that, the line went dead.

There was a split second where Zayn thought maybe Harry had cut the call because he didn't want to talk to Zayn. He probably didn't. But Harry wasn't that guy. He was earnest and good, too kind even. Was Harry going to call on one of his friends in London to come check on Zayn to make sure he wasn’t dying? Was he going to come himself? He dismissed the thought as soon as it came into his head. He wasn’t the lead in a romcom. People didn’t do shit like that in real life. Maybe Zayn was overestimating Harry's patience. Zayn was well aware how little sense he made when he was drunk. He'd seen videos of him ranting shit faced, his accent so thick is bordered on unintelligible. Gave his mates a laugh, at least. But with the tension thick between him and the boys, maybe Harry had gotten tired of listening to him snivel, his behaviour seeming pitiful instead of amusing.

Mind running amok with thoughts about his conversation, he put him phone on silent, and rolled around on his couch until he found a semi-comfortable position.

Tomorrow morning, he would stop being pathetic and get his life together. Heck, he might even start doing yoga. Or a juice cleanse! Harry did juice cleanses. Running wild with the thought of Harry's health regime, his mind strayed to thoughts of Harry’s body, hard muscle, milky soft skin and bouncing curls. Yeah, that would be nice. A juice cleanse, that is. He drifted to sleep with the memory of Harry passionately defending his beetroot juice cleanse, trying to sound authoritative, but waylaid by the furious blush on his cheeks. How far down did that blush travel, he wondered.

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

Fingers were digging into his thighs, verging on painful, but so grounding. They were forcing his thighs to part, he realized, and he acquiesced, letting his legs go limp in the hold. The hands forced one leg up and up, until it was touching his shoulder, leaving him bared.

A body was suddenly over his, still holding his leg up with ease, abs covering his quivering belly. Fingers scratched at the hair behind his ear, tilting his head just right, as a pair of lips covered his own softly. He felt small, breakable, as a tongue snaked its way into his mouth, licking behind his teeth and tangling with his own. He tried to fight for some control, wanting to wrestle the other’s tongue into submission, if only momentarily, but found himself lulled into meekly chasing after the other’s tongue as it explored every inch of his mouth.

As the mouth drew back, chocolate brown curls came into sight, framing a heart shaped face. Twinkling green eyes surrounded with sooty lashes stared down at him. The familiar rosy mouth, stretched wide into a grin, dimples carved into creamy cheeks. Oh. Harry.

Try as he might, Zayn’s brain refused to cooperate to make sense of the situation, reduced to mush. He couldn’t think of the whys, hows and whens. Harry ducked down again, catching the lobe of Zayn’s ear between his teeth, gently biting. An embarrassing squeak escaped his mouth.

“ _Harry. What, what are you doing?_ ”

Harry’s hand let go of his thigh. He kicked Zayn’s legs apart with his knees and slotted himself between them, making Zayn hyperaware that they were both naked. Harry rubbed his cock against Zayn’s, causing him to buck into his chest. Harry put his arms around Zayn, pulling him into his body, Zayn’s face resting against his chest, and sat up, the new position putting Zayn in his lap. Harry slowly moved his hands down Zayn’s back, stopping at the dimples to knead them before continuing to his bum. He massaged the globes with unforgiving fingers and finally spread them, revealing Zayn’s most private place on his body. A finger trailed down the crease of his arse to touch him where no one had before.

Zayn buried his face in Harry’s shoulder, overwhelmed tears slipping down his cheeks as his body was explored. The finger lightly pushed at his hole, before withdrawing and pushing again.

“ _You know what I’m gonna do to you, don’t you, love?_ ”

Zayn braced himself, his hands wrapping around Harry’s chest, trusting him to take what he wanted and give Zayn what he needed.

“ _Answer me, Zayn. Tell me you want to get fucked. Look at that sweet little hole mouthing at my finger, trying to get it inside._ ” Harry breathed into his ear, a teasing lilt to his voice.

And Zayn realized it was true. His hips were undulating to the harsh, desperate rhythm of his breathing, rubbing against Harry’s fingers, pushing into his hands. He nodded his assent timidly, not wanting to speak for fear of ruining the moment.

Harry chuckled, his fingers sneaking up to hold Zayn at the waist.

“ _Patience, sweetheart. I’m going to take my ti…_ "

**xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo**

Zayn’s eyes flew open, the shrill, continuous ringing of his doorbell having shocked him awake. His mouth tasted like a rat had died in there and then its corpse had decomposed, only for a stray dog to come along and piss on the rotting flesh. The colourful imagery made him grimace, causing his already pounding head to twang with a sharp ache. He ignored the throbbing behind his legs. It was too early in the day to start trying to decipher the reason behind having wet dreams about his mate. The dream had to be a symbolic way of his brain telling him something. Maybe that he needed to stop being so anal. Hah! Hungover Zayn liked his puns. Hungover Zayn also thought of himself in the third person. Hungover Zayn needed to stop.

He gathered his wits. First order of business, open door. Kill the asshole leaning on his doorbell. Hide body. Take an aspirin. Slather forehead with balm. Order enough Chinese takeout to feed an army and eat himself into a food coma.


	2. Calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I suck for not doing in forever. I'm sorry. I'll try to be regular, I promise. I just lose motivation real quick, because it's hard for me to believe that anyone would be interested in reading something I've written. I'm made a promise to myself to not worry about that anymore. This is supposed to be for stress relief. I won't let it become another thing to be stressed about. :P

Blonde hair and a sunny smile, bright enough to momentarily blind his hungover mind, greeted him as he slid the door open. He stood there gaping, door only half open, trying to come to terms with who had decided to pay him a visit, bright and early. He shut the door in Niall’s face, his hands working without any input from his brain. Fuck.

Niall didn’t seem too bothered by his less than warm welcome and cheerfully called out, “I brought breakfast. I might even share.” His stomach grumbled at the thought of food.

Zayn opened the door and made a gesture that in his head meant ‘please do come in and forgive me for slamming the door in your face’, but probably just looked like he was having a mini seizure.

“What are you doing here, Niall?” Zayn asked, resisting the urge to forego small talk, and snugly fit his face into his friend’s neck. Maybe have him pet his back, cooing reassurances into his hair like his mother used to do when he was a young boy.

Okay, fine. She still did it from time to time. But that was because Zayn didn't want to hurt her feelings by asking her to stop. That was his story and he was sticking with it.

Niall’s face was doing the impression of his mother when she was trying to break it to him gently that he was being a cunt. She referred to it as him being unreasonable, but he could hear what she really meant. Almost as if he’d read his mind, Niall set the two large bags (presumably containing greasy goodness) he had clutched to his chest on the living room table and stalked over to Zayn. He put his arms around him, his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, and turned his face to croon directly into Zayn’s ear in a ridiculous falsetto, “ I've done this before, not like this. Not like this.”

The tension broke, a helpless chuckle erupting from Zayn, as he hugged Niall back.

“You look like shit, Zayn.” Niall stated, his voice devoid of the schadenfreude that would have saturated the comment had Louis, or Zayn himself, been the one making it.

“Thanks.” Zayn muttered into Niall’s shoulder, aiming for sarcasm, but  the sincerity leaked through.

“Anytime bro. Can we postpone the cuddling for after we’re done eating, though. Food’s getting cold.” Niall said, like he hadn't gone almost a year completely out of touch with Zayn. Like nothing was wrong. This is why he loved Niall.

And that’s what they did. The rest of the day was spent eating their body weight in Chinese food, which seriously Niall, “Who has Chinese for breakfast?” Zayn had asked exasperatedly. “ More than a billion people living in China. Now where’re the forks? I can’t eat rice with chopsticks.” Niall had yelled back from the kitchen, where he was scrounging around for cutlery, and grabbing beers, making himself at home.

In the evening, they’d settled in to watch a movie. Zayn had insisted on Frozen since he’d gotten halfway through it with his Waliyha. He’d like to think he hadn’t finished watching it because too busy, but the truth was, he'd had plenty of time. Being his own boss came with its perks. He just didn’t want to watch a Disney movie alone, since they always tended to have a message about the magical power of love and family. Watching it by his lonesome would have been depressing.

“Harry called me, you know,” Niall said, out of nowhere. A year ago, he’d have snapped at him for talking during the movie, but well, it was still the first half playing and he’d already watched it. Plus, he couldn’t afford to be prickly with Niall, considering that their friendship was still on thin ice. Hah, frozen and thin ice. He cracked himself up sometimes. With how lame his sense of humour was.

“Is that why you came?” Zayn asked, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

“No, Zayn. I came because you’re my friend and I care about you.” He took a deep breath, like he was building himself up to something, “I know you think that we hate you, and you’re wrong, okay. Sure, we were mad. But Zayn, this isn’t the first time we’ve had a fight. Remember that time when Louis was pissed at you for sending a nude to his mom, and you literally kept poking him in the forehead until he forgave you?”

“That was an accident. I was trying to email it to myself,” Zayn protested half heartedly. Screw Niall for reminding him about flashing Liam’s mum, when he was finally starting to forget. She'd texted back, telling him he was a good looking boy, but maybe he should be more careful before sending such sensitive material to people, given that he was in the entertainment industry. He'd yet to look her in the eye after the incident.

“Whatever you say, you kinky freak,” Niall winked at him, before continuing on, ”This time Zayn, there’s nothing to forgive at all. We’ve all been idiots about this, and 75% of it is your and Louis’s fault. He doesn’t know where to draw the line, and you only make it worse. Calling him out like that on twitter. You couldn't have just called? And don't give me any bull about changed numbers. You could have messaged him on twitter, or emailed him. Heck, you could have called management and asked for his number. Your mum and his mum talk on the phone all the time, Zayn. If you wanted to, you could have gotten in touch. But then, so could he.” There was a crazed look in Niall’s eyes as he rambled on, which in turn caused Zayn to calm down a little. It was good to know that he wasn't the only one so strongly affected by the situation.

He ducked his head to hide the smile of relief and amusement at Niall's impassioned rant stretching across his face, but he mustn’t have succeeded, because Niall stopped. Zayn looked up at Niall, ready to assure him that he wasn’t mocking him, but the soft smile on Niall’s face convinced him that was unnecessary.

“I missed you.” And it didn’t make a lick of a difference who said it, because they both shared the sentiment.

 

XxXxXxXxXxX

As the end credits rolled on the TV screen, Niall pressed a sloppy kiss to Zayn’s cheek, making him grin and grimace in equal measure, and took off to crash in the guest bedroom.

Zayn made a listless effort at cleaning up, before deciding to leave it for the morning.

Despite being dead tired, Zayn felt keyed up. He tossed this way and that, trying to fall asleep, but nothing worked. Finally giving up, his hands stretched towards the bedside drawes, retrieving his half empty bottle of lube.

He pulled his trousers off and tossed them to the side. Squirting some lube into his palm, he quickly wrapped his hand around his cock. The cold of the lube against his heated skin made his hips arch, goosebumps breaking across his skin. In his mind, he played the scene of a girl going down on him. Maybe a brunette. With curly hair. The craving for release postponed any feelings of guilt that may have risen from the similarities between the appearance of this girl and a certain someone.

_The girl had her mouth wrapped around the head of cock, lightly sucking. Her rosy mouth kissing the tip, before sliding down to take half his length in, tongue fluttering enticingly on the underside of his cock._

Fuck, it wasn’t enough. He needed something more.

_She pulled back with a slick pop, the obscene sound contrasting with her innocent green eyes, shining up at him. She stood up, turning out to be significantly taller than Zayn._

His hand sped up at the thought of having to tilt his head to look her in the eye.

_She pushed at his chest until he lay on his back, and crawled on top of him. Lips kissed their way from his shoulders, to his neck, sucking until he was marked, clear for everyone to see. Kisses were pressed onto his jaw, teeth playfully biting at his chin. A hand cupped the back of his head, so large that it spanned from one ear to the other, making him feel small. The lips found his own, stretched into a smile, just lightly grazing his mouth. Chaste kisses were pressed into lips, until he parted his lips slightly, inviting the person to deepen the kiss. And he did._

At this point, there was no use pretending that he was thinking of anyone other than Harry. He was too far gone to stop now.

He knew he needed his fantasy to get dirtier if he was going to get off, and choosing to ignore how creepy he was being, he let himself imagine. _He was being fucked by Harry._ Because that’s what the fantasy had been leading to, after all. For all his emotional stuntedness, Zayn had always been quick to understand and accept his wants, even if he was too much of a realist to ever hope for them to come to fruition.

_Harry would have him on his knees, legs spread and his arms held in one hand, behind his back. He would pound into Zayn, fast and deep. Zayn would have his neck bared for Harry, silently asking to be marked, even as Harry made sure to fuck him so mercilessly that his limp would make it clear to everyone just what had been done to him. He’d come untouched and Harry would fuck him through his orgasm. And when Harry was finally done, he’d shove Zayn face down, raising his arse up and spreading his cheeks, revealing his inflamed, fucked red hole. He would scrape his nails cruelly over the twitching hole, gaping, struggling to close, but unable to after Harry’s continuous assault. Fingers would be shoved into his arse, pumping in and out, causing Zayn to moan shamefully. Harry would scoop out the cum he’d deposited deep inside Zayn with his fingers to Zayn’s mouth and make him lick his fingers clean. Again and again, till Zayn felt empty on the inside, craving for Harry to take him again and make him drip._

And with this image seared into his brain, _of his abused hole being penetrated again, slickly swallowing Harry’s cock while Zayn held his head down, letting himself get bred by his friend_ , Zayn came. The orgasm washed over his body, making his core go tight and uncoil repeatedly in tandem. He bit his bottom lip to keep the sounds in, mindful of having company in his apartment. Perrie had always complained about how loud he would get when he came.

He trailed his fingers, tacky with lube and cum, down from his cock to his balls, rubbing circles into them, causing his oversensitive cock to twitch. He ventured further down, to the crease of his arse, rubbing the slick mess into his hole, lightly pushing at it, before giving in to temptation and slowly letting his middle finger sink inside. He was fingering himself. Fucking himself in the arse. The thought of it made his cheeks flame. There was no way his cock could go another round. Next time, he would let himself explore. Putting off thinking about all he’d come to terms to, Zayn wiped his hands on his discarded trousers, closed his eyes and drifted into a calm sleep after a long time.


End file.
